


From the Ashes

by darkestbliss



Category: Muse
Genre: AU, Angst, Death, Destruction, Fire, M/M, Sad Ending, Violence, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 13:37:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1133276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkestbliss/pseuds/darkestbliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flames they licked the walls, tenderly they turned to dust all that I adored.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From the Ashes

“Ya know, I reckon we’re quite lucky, actually.”

 

I looked across from where I was sat into the eyes of the young US soldier who had just spoken. A grimy piece of bread was held between his blackened hands, and I eyed it with greed. My own piece had long since disappeared, and had done little to ease the growing hunger in the middle of my stomach. Even worse, I’d been forced to share a few bits with the skinny lad who had taken the spot next to me on the dirt floor. His bread had been greedily taken by the Nazi guard then crumbled in front of his eyes, forcing him to crawl along the ground searching for as many leftover crumbs as he could find.

 

“Why would’ya think that?” said one of the other US soldiers.

 

“Well Harper, ya heard what they doin’ to the Jews? Takin’ ‘em to these camps, ya see, workin ‘em to death. I hear the POW camps are far better, they got food, water, shelter. Damn, I can’t wait. It’s gonna be like bein’ home, back with mah mama and her cookin’.”

 

“What makes ya think we gon’ be goin’ home?” asked Harper. “I reckon it’ll be a good long while.”

 

“It’s gotta be comin’ to a close soon, I mean we won the first one, why can’t we win the second one, ya know?”

 

I rolled my eyes, ignoring the rest of the US soldiers’ conversation and instead looking over my shoulder to the only other member of the British army that was housed in the cell, the same lad I’d given my bread to earlier. Bellamy, I remembered. He was always so quiet. In fact, I couldn’t remember a time I’d heard his voice in the previous 21 hours we’d been held captive besides the quiet thanks he’d given me after the incident with the Nazi guard and the bread. A strange little man he certainly was.

 

Just then, he mumbled something beneath his breath, and my eyes widened in shock. “What was that?” I asked, making eye contact.

 

“I said it’s not just the Jews.” Bellamy brought his hands out in front of him, inspecting the dirt beneath his fingernails and frowning to himself. “They’re taking the Roma, the mentally ill, the Jehova’s witnesses, even the homosexuals. That’s why I signed up, I’d rather be blown to bits than put in one of those camps,” he whispered. “I’m fucked if they find out.”

 

I nodded, understanding what Bellamy meant. I was in the same situation, though I kept it quiet. It was just the type of thing you kept quiet about, regardless of who you were or what situation you were in. In our situation, keeping it quiet meant life or death, and in a world that was being set fire to before your eyes, it could become the only thing one had to hold onto. “Are they as bad as the stories we heard back home? I mean, walking skeletons? Mum and I couldn’t believe our ears when we were told.”

 

“Worse,” said Bellamy. “Worse than you could ever imagine.” He looked terrifying for a moment, his eyes darkening from blue to indigo. He blinked, and then he was back to normal. “The American is right though; we are lucky. Hopefully by tomorrow morning, we’ll be on a train, and then all we have to do is wait.”

 

I smiled at the other man, a flutter of hope spiralling up in my chest for the first time in months.

 

“Think we got a chance?” one of the American men interrupted.

 

“Well,” I said, giving him a cheeky smile. “I don’t know about your Yankee arse, but us Brits sure do.”

 

All of us in the small prison cell - Bellamy, me, and the three American soldiers - shared a big laugh, only to be silenced by the Nazi guard a few seconds later who held his gun ready at his hip.

 

When he left, Bellamy let out a small chuckle, his eyes shining bright. “I like you, mate. What’s your name?”

 

“Howard,” I said. “Dominic Howard.”

 

“Matthew Bellamy,” he said with a smile. “It’s a  pleasure to meet you.”

 

~

 

Mum had always told me to be careful. Even though we had lived in a very friendly neighborhood with mostly bicycles and people out walking their pets, she still constantly reminded me to look both ways before running across the street to retrieve the football or whatever toy had gone astray. Cars were so rare, but Mum had always been a worrier. “Let your tea cool before you drink it,” she would say, or “Make sure you always wash your hands after collecting the chicken eggs in the morning”.

 

Early that night, in the cell with Matthew and the three Americans, I found myself taking Mum’s words to heart. February in Germany wasn’t too cold, not at all like the Decembers and Januarys we were used to braving out on the battlefield, but there was still quite a chill in the dirt cell with the icy concrete walls, and when one’s heart wasn’t racing under the shower of gunfire, the lack of heat became a lot more noticeable.

 

Matthew and I huddled close together in the corner of the cell, out of the guard’s direct sight. His breath was warm and comforting on my neck, and I held his small frame close to try and trap what little heat we had between our bodies.

 

We had to be careful. At that point, carefulness was our only chance at survival. We both knew that one wrong gesture could get us both sent on a different train than the Americans, one destined for a place that haunted me only in my darkest nightmares.

 

Still, I was willing to risk it for Matthew. That first day we spoke almost nonstop about our lives back home. Like me, Matthew’s family consisted of a sweet and loving mother as well as a father who was no longer part of the family picture. Matthew also had an older sister living in London with her new husband, and they were expecting a baby early in the summer, June to be exact. He hoped to be home in time for the birth of his first niece or nephew, giving him about three months. I told him I believed it would happen, to which he smiled.

 

When I spoke of growing up in Stockport, of the lovely neighborhoods and the schools I attended and my mates, Matthew listened intently. I told him about enlisting in the army, and the way Mum had cried and cried. “You must not!” she’d prayed, pulling at the cuff of my sleeve as I gathered my things and opened the door to find my way to the train station. “Dominic, stay! You must stay!” I  had never ignored Mum before that day. I ran away from her and I didn’t even kiss her goodbye.

 

Recalling this all, I was glad Matthew was there. It was my first time telling anyone about it. Being in the army, I never had the chance to talk about personal things; it was always about tactics on the front. Nothing was personal, but at the same time, everything was. Every action I did was for Mum, every gunshot, every day spent without food, every fellow soldier I watched die before my eyes.

 

Matthew seemed to know exactly what I meant. “I often wonder how Mum is doing back home, without me,” he said. “I hope she knows everything is for her, that I’m doing this so that she stays safe. God, I hope she’s safe.”

 

“Did you... Did you hear anything after the Blitz?” I asked quietly, recalling word of the constant bombings dropped onto London by the Germans.

 

He shook his head sadly, looking down and tracing a pattern into the dirt with his finger. I watched. “I haven’t heard anything. I asked and asked but, nothing. I haven’t gotten any letters either, though that’s not unheard of.” He chuckled for a brief second, letting a smile crack at his lips. “Mum never was good at keeping track of time, nevertheless an ever-changing address to reach me.”

 

“You know,” I said. “Maybe tomorrow, when we get to the camp, you can phone her. I bet they’ve got telephones there.”

 

“That would be brilliant,” Matthew said. “Something to look forward to, yeah?”

 

“Definitely.”

 

Matthew sighed contentedly, moving apart from me for a minute as the guard walked past us, taking in the three Americans asleep and Matthew and I sitting a few feet from each other. As soon as we heard his footsteps echo away, we moved back together.

 

“So, erm, you have a boyfriend back home then?” I asked, blushing awkwardly.

 

Matthew let out a tiny giggle, shaking his head. “Broke it off when I was deployed. Good thing too, I found out on the way over to France that he was cheating on me with one of the girls who lived down the street from me.”

 

“Oi, fuckwad. That’s shit.”

 

“Eh, he was a bit of a prick anyway. What about you? Girlfriend?”

 

“Nah, Mum was always uptight with me around girls,” I said with a laugh. “She used to tell me I was too good-looking, didn’t want me getting any of them pregnant.”

 

Matthew laughed again and I smiled. It was a lovely sound, something so rare in wartime. I told myself I would memorize that laugh and hold onto it for the rest of my days, as something to get me through each day no matter what it brought me.

 

“So,” I said, finishing my story. “It was mostly just me and my mates. Stirring up trouble at the local, all that.”

 

“Sounds like a right good time,” said Matthew.

 

“It was,” I replied, reminiscing. “It really was.”

 

Matthew and I held conversation for a few more hours, but the time finally came for us to catch up on sleep. We could only ignore our broken body’s protests for so much time.

 

The ground was hard, the small prison cell was smelly, and the Americans were snoring, but Matthew was warm and reminded me of home, even though home was hundreds of miles away from the cold, German city we were in which was known as Dresden.


End file.
